The mad scientist stands over me with a laser pointed at my face. His fiendish helper claps goggles onto my eyes. I tense. A searing sensation rips into my face. As the laser traces tiny spider veins across my cheek, zapping them into oblivion, I hear a faint pop, pop, pop. It begins to sting. Yeow, I swear silently. Is that burning flesh I smell? Hey, Doc? Owww. Yeowww! DOC! Dr. Harold Lancer, my Beverly Hills dermatologist, is laughing. He had warned me to take some Valium before the procedure (or risk scaring off his celebrity clients, no doubt). I can't...
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